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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665905">like a dream</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maven_Fair/pseuds/Maven_Fair'>Maven_Fair</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>in a state of dreaming [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Dream Smp, Gen, Not beta read we die like Tubbo at the festival, One Shot, Prequel, more people will be introduced over the series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:48:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665905</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maven_Fair/pseuds/Maven_Fair</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>It’s a sunny day when his wanted posters are printed. | George and Sapnap don’t actually know why the man on the poster is wanted. They never do. | Bad sometimes wonders what the masked man is running from. | Sleepy Bois Incorporated is a weird family, Wilbur knows. | Leaving Philza’s house is hard for Tommy Innit.</p>
</blockquote>Every story must have a beginning. Every person must have reason for ending up where they did. The Dream SMP is no different.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade &amp; Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>in a state of dreaming [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>like a dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a sunny day when his wanted posters are printed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He can feel when the first is made, recognizing the tingle on his skin as an image of him being created for the world to see. The back of his neck itches, a small pull of a string that he’s tried more than once to cut off. It hurts more than normal, and he resigns himself to another night of sleeplessness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Come home, </em> it whispers. <em> We’ll keep you safe. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> No, </em> he wants to say back, despite the fact that he knows it won’t go anywhere. The voice never listens, its owner too overbearing and uncaring of his needs and desires. That’s who he got his own selfishness from, after all. <em> I left because of you, </em> he wants to say. <em> Just leave me be. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>His eyes itch. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man sighs as he feels the next few posters come about, created rapidly and with fervor. Trying to get the message out as quickly as possible, then. It’s understandable - if someone had done what he did to himself, he would’ve already gone and killed them himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He can feel the lines being created, the skin on his face being gently caressed by the action. He instinctively moves a hand to his jaw line, the tingle becoming slightly less aligned with the actual form of his face. They could never get his jawline quite right. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He feels when the posters are finally given to delivery boys, told to be hung up in town squares and on trees along forest pathways. He can feel when the first bounty hunter grabs one off its pin and stuffs it in their pocket. He can feel every touch, every movement, every thought about him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps it’s time to put the mask back on. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>George and Sapnap don’t actually know why the man on the poster is wanted. They never do. Instead, they focus on memorizing the man’s features and convincing their weary bodies to begin to move to the last seen location of the man. The reward even makes them decide to splurge on porkchop rather than the dry and tasteless bread they usually sustained themselves on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What in the world did this guy do to have a reward of 100,000 gold coins? Not even silver or bronze, but <em> gold. </em> George and Sapnap wouldn’t have to work another day in their lives, nor would their children, grandchildren, or great grandchildren. They could buy acres upon acres of land, build a mansion, hell, create their own nation if they wanted. And still have gold to spare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> It doesn’t matter what he’s done, </em> George tells himself. <em> Doesn’t matter that most of the people pushing these posters out get paid to put a price tag on innocent people. </em> Last week, he and Sapnap heard about another bounty hunter raging a rebellion against a local lord after she had brought in an innocent woman. The bounty hunter died at the hands of others in their profession. Rumor has it, the ten who took her down got 500 gold coins each.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> How much would mine and Sapnap’s lives be auctioned off for, </em> George wonders. <em> 100? 200? Surely not more than 250. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stop thinking about that stuff,” Sapnap says, not bothering to turn around as he continues to pack up his satchel. It really shouldn’t take that long, neither or them carry much, but George can tell he’s just as hung up on their current mark. “Nothing good ever happens when people like us start thinking.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know,” George says. “I know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The inn they’re visiting is less than hospitable - nowhere they can stay is, really - but they both still thank the inn owner before they head out. The woman glares suspiciously at them in response, having seen them take the wanted poster off the board the night before. “Innocent people you’re hunting down,” she spit, “Innocent people.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George and Sapnap stayed quiet. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Maybe this one is guilty, </em> George tries to tell himself. It’s dry on his tongue, like the porkchop they ate the night before. <em> Maybe this time we won’t be the bad guys. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>(The man on the poster in Sapnap’s satchel hears these thoughts and forgives them before even knowing their names.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bad sometimes wonders what the masked man is running from. He had more tact than to outright ask it, but enough courage to hint that he’s curious. The masked man never answers, though, simply humming and thanking Bad for his hospitality.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps the reason he wants to know what he’s running from is because he’s lonely. It’s selfish of Bad - something that he feels guilty over - but it’s hard to deny. He wants to try and help the masked man shake off his pursuers and hopefully live a life of peace. It’s been hard for Bad, with Skeppy… leaving. But <strike> their </strike> his home seems to light up whenever the masked man shows up on his doorstep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first time it had happened, the masked man was in horrible shape, on half a heart. Bad remembers finding him in the forest, beaten and gripping his stomach. He was eating steak to try and regenerate health but a skeleton was beginning to shoot arrows at him. Bad disposed of the skeleton and invited the hesitant man to his home. The man left the next morning before Bad woke up, leaving only a bag of gold coins behind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took Bad three weeks to track the masked man down, never stopping until he saw the unnerving smiley face. The man had immediately moved to attack before registering the bag of coins thrown onto the ground. “Sorry,” Bad had said. “I had to use a couple to find you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A week later the masked man comes over for dinner, attempting to slip more gold into one of Bad’s chests. He succeeds, but only after agreeing to stay the night. He’s gone again by morning. It’s only when he’s getting ready for bed that Bad remembers that he forgot to ask his name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In three days he returns with chickens and cows, noticing the lack of farm animals in Bad’s pasture. He stays long enough to have a quick chat before going back on whatever journey he was on. He forgets to ask for the man’s name again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Two weeks later he comes by with some pastries from a traveling baker. Bad convinces him to stay for some hot chocolate and fresh muffins. As he cleans up the smiley face mug that he bought for the man Bad tells himself to leave a reminder to ask the man his name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Two days later he’s back, with a collection of sand and glass after Bad had complained about lacking them. He forgets to ask again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another week goes by and he’s there, standing on his doorstep, face concealed with a badly drawn smile. Bad is too preoccupied with the arrow in his stomach to remember to ask.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This goes on for seven months, until suddenly the masked man stops coming by for a whole month. Bad tries not to worry, tries to convince himself that the man was surely strong enough to hold his own, but… He can’t help it. There’s no way to know if he’s died since Bad doesn’t even know his name, nothing to remember him with except the glass by the renovated living room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was though he was nothing more than a dream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(The masked man that ended up on Bad’s doorstep huffs a laugh and returns to his pursuit for a blockheaded figure.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sleepy Bois Incorporated is a weird family, Wilbur knows. A winged man who actually enjoys living in hardcore areas, a bloodthirsty piglin kinnie, a dirty crime boy, and an overzealous literal child. Crazy, all of them, although in very different ways. The only true thing keeping them together was Philza, who adopted each of them over the years. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Philza always said there was a time that they would all leave him. Oftentimes it was said as a joke, bemoaning how lonely he’ll be without them. But as time went on, and each of them began to split off into their different aspirations, Wilbur could almost pinpoint the day that they knew all of them were leaving. Philza could as well, smiling sadly at them over breakfast and taking extra care to hug them before they went back to their bedrooms. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nobody said goodbye. There wasn’t a time for it. Goodbyes were ends, after all, and endings were never Sleepy Bois Inc.’s specialties. There was a silent promise that they would meet again, that they would come running when the message came. Until then, though, they would leave out their bedroom window, one diamond sword, a guitar, and a bag with a music disc slung over each of their separate shoulders. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s about a month into leaving Philza’s side that Wilbur comes across stories of the man on a wanted poster. His crimes weren’t listed on them, simply “Return Dead” underneath the man’s drawn visage. Wilbur himself wasn’t interested in the rumors about the man, Clay. Neither, it seems, did the man who sat down next to him at the rather crowded bar. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Load of rubbish, eh?” Wilbur says, gesturing towards where one of the men is proclaiming loudly how he knew Clay himself and the crimes he committed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hm,” the man replies. At a closer look Wilbur realizes that he has a white mask with a crudely drawn smiley face on it. Strange, sure, but not nearly the weirdest thing he’s seen. It’s a bit tacky if anything. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I mean, honestly,” Wilbur continues, “one would think that people would get sick over speculating on criminal’s lives.” It’s probably bad form to continue talking to someone who didn’t even answer his first question, but Wilbur Soot has never been one to particularly care about things like that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve been told it’s one of the most popular past times,” Smiley Mask says. “Wouldn’t want to take that away from them.” Wilbur huffs out a laugh, leaning harder onto the wooden bar. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s just, really, there’s got to be more exciting things than lying about knowing wanted criminals,” he says. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Like what?” Smiley Mask asks, and Wilbur can hear the humor in his voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, music, for one!” Wilbur says, gesturing vaguely to the guitar still strapped to his back. He can feel the alcohol beginning to affect him, but it’s a pleasant buzz instead of an overwhelming feeling. “The world would be a lot better off if they took all those creative lies and put them to song, don’t you think?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It would certainly be more entertaining,” the man says. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you!” Wilbur says loudly. The person to his left shoots him a glare. For some reason, the warm buzz seems to be getting stronger as he talks to Smiley Mask. “You know what you’re talking about.” The man laughs, a wheezing, comical sound that fit the childish mask on his face. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks, I guess?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wilbur nods to himself, taking the guitar off of his back as he does. “A song for my mysterious masked friend!” he says. Wilbur notes a few people shooting unimpressed glares at his proclamation but, for the most part, people seemed interested in the presence of a bard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Next thing he knows, he’s back in a prepaid room at the inn across the street. The only thing he can really recall are purple eyes that made his ears bleed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(The man from a forgotten bar night starts to hum a song from a drunk bard on the roads he travels instead of the silent treks that he used to take. He takes extra care to secure the mask, now.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Leaving Philza’s house is hard for Tommy Innit. But he knows in his heart that it’s time to go. So, with his two greatest treasures strapped along his back, he ventures out into the unknown. Wilbur took the main road down to the nearby village, probably off singing small ditties to any women who would stop in their treks. Techno took the small passage through the woods, going in a straight line towards a gladiator ring that Philza had warned them not to go towards millions of times. So that leaves Tommy with the small back road, traveling towards nowhere and everywhere at the same time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t actually know where the back road goes. It’s scary, at first, but he’s found that talking to himself makes his worries go away, at least slightly. So who cares if he sounds a bit crazy, at least he’s not jumping at every single sound around him anymore. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>More than a few times Tommy found himself worrying about his brothers and father. He checks the various server logs daily to check on them. Wilbur didn’t often show up in them - rarely ever, if he’s honest - but not showing up is better than anything. Technoblade shows up hundreds of times daily on the Hypixel server, almost always preceded by “slain by”. Philza doesn’t show up at all, and Tommy knows that he probably cleaned up the house one last time before packing all of his belongings into a shulker box and leaving with his elytra on his back. He’s probably in some far-off hardcore world and despite the fact that Tommy knows he’s probably the most qualified person to live in one of those areas in the whole entire world, a twinge of unease fills his body. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s when he’s checking Hypixel’s server logs that he runs into the masked man for the first time. Tommy was staying at a village for some time to try and decide what he was going to do next with his life. The local townsfolk were kind enough to let him stay for free so long as he babysat some of the children. Really, he felt a bit bad for taking them up on the offer since he didn’t even really do anything. At the time he was just sitting at the fountain in the town’s center, the children splashing around in water near him. The excitement over his enchanted diamond sword seemed to have died down a bit after the first hundred or so times they asked about it, and Tommy finally had some free time to check up on his brother.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The masked man appears in his peripheral vision for some time before Tommy actually registers him. He sits down on a nearby bench, pulling out a journal and writing something down. Tommy can hear the excited playing of the children die down a bit as they also take note of the weird mask. “Hey,” Tommy says, making the man look up from his journal. “Do you mind going somewhere else? You’re scaring the kids.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man makes a surprised huff, as though the statement was news to him. “Really?” he asks, closing the journal and tucking it away into the pocket of his green hoodie. Tommy is wary as he takes in the lack of armor on the man. There was only one other person he knew who disliked wearing armor. So either he was an idiot, or a good enough fighter that he didn’t need armor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Really,” Tommy says. “I mean it’s not every day you see a creepy ass mask.” The man barks out a laugh at this, and Tommy decides that he hates the sound. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry, sorry,” the man says. “I’ll be going, I guess. Don't want to scare anymore children.” Tommy nods suspiciously at the man, who stands up and dusts off imaginary dirt from himself. The smile unnerves him. It’s just to the left of correctly spaced out; eyes too far apart and the smile too close.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait,” Tommy says, standing up himself. The man turns towards him, tilting his head slightly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s your name?” Tommy asks, and he can almost feel the air still. The smile seemed to grow thinner and longer. A short laugh escapes through the mask.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know, I can't remember the last time someone asked me that question,” the man says. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bad manners, then,” Tommy says. The man hums.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dream,” he says. “My name’s Dream.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dream, huh? Your parents must’ve had some pretty fucking high expectations,” Tommy says. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Something like that. I’ll see you another time, Tommy Innit.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s only later that night that Tommy realizes he never told the man his name. None of the villagers seemed to remember him, either. But when he goes to check up on his satchel he finds a note with some coordinates on them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(As Dream walked through a random village, the tug at his neck seemed to loosen its hold ever so slightly. He now knows what it means. <em> It’s coming, </em> something in him says.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Source: Pages 133-134 of Marcel Jones’ book <em> Eyes of Ender: An Empirical Study of the Short and Long-Term Effects of Looking at Endermen, </em> 3025. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Subject 32</b>
</p>
<p><b>Gender:</b> CisFem</p>
<p><b>Age:</b> 19</p>
<p><b>Background:</b> Small Village/Librarian &amp; Farmer</p>
<p><b>Current Profession:</b> Librarian</p>
<p><b>Mental Stability:</b> 9/10</p>
<p><b>Status:</b> Alive</p>
<p>Comments: I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day. I was fourteen at the time. It was stupid, really, the reason I did it. It was off a stupid dare from this boy I liked. “Look at endermen in the eye and maybe I’ll go out with you,” he said. I didn’t realize at the time that he was making fun of me. I mean, there was no way to even prove that I actually looked one in the eye. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>My parents didn’t like me going out a lot, y’know. Said that times were changing and I needed to be kept safe. So I waited for weeks until they were both out at night - drinking with friends, or something, I don’t know - and I snuck out. I remember being so proud of myself. I felt powerful, unstoppable. That was the last night I’d feel that way. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I sometimes wonder what would’ve happened if I had stayed home that night. If my parents didn’t go out, if I got over my crush, or if I realized that Sam wouldn’t go out with me even if I could show him evidence that I looked one in the eye. But there’s no taking it back now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I didn’t even take any armor with me. I figured I could get in and out: find an enderman, look them in the eye, and then leave. I nearly got killed by a skeleton on my hunt. Sometimes I wish I had, since I would’ve just respawned. I was near death when I saw it. An enderman. I took myself out of the bush I was hiding from monsters in and slowly approached it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Have you ever seen an enderman, Ms. Jones? The closest I had ever gotten to one before that night was in horror stories that my classmates told each other. They aren’t that far off. It towered over me, Ms. Jones. I was a measly five foot two. This enderman was at least eight feet tall. There are these, these purple things that surround them, too. As I got closer the purple seemed to cloak me, too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I don’t know if you’ve heard this before, but the main thing I remember from that night was the sound as I moved my eyes up. There was this - this screeching sound, Ms. Jones. Imagine all the worst sounds you’ve heard in your life being played all at once. Except, except the sound was <em> inside </em> my head. It pierced my brain, my throat, my eyes, <em> everything. </em> I’m not overexaggerating, Ms. Jones. It was the worst. But even as the pain grew and grew and grew, my eyes kept moving upwards.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The stories always said that endermen don’t want you to look at them. It’s always the poor human’s fault, curiosity killed the cat, all that shit. But this - this one did. I know it. Maybe it was my fault for seeking it out in the first place, but I could feel that this one wanted me to look at its eyes. And I did.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I woke up in my bed the next morning. Except. Except it wasn’t my bed. I walked downstairs for breakfast and my parents weren’t my parents. I remember screaming, running outside, and not recognizing a single person I saw. It took me a full year to even leave the house. I left the fake parents and fake village behind once I did. I couldn’t handle it, you understand. I just. I looked out and I couldn’t recognize a single thing about this life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I don’t know what happened, Ms. Jones. But if you ever see an enderman, you run. Don’t look back. Don’t… Don’t let what happened to me happen to you. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> It’s time, </em> something in him says. He sits on a chunk of unclaimed land, bought for with money that nobody questions where it came from. He can feel movements of those he’s crossed paths with and <em> knows. </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’re coming.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i can't believe i actually managed to write this akdhalkhsdflkhasdf. if anyone is confused: this series will be fully canon compliant, but i just... changed a few things about characters and their backgrounds here and there, so it's technically an au. i hope nobody was too ooc? i am planning on continuing this in another one shot that's been already written. let me know if i should add any tags as well! i really hope you all enjoyed, and have great day! try to stay safe.</p>
<p><a href="https://twitter.com/Maven_Fair">twt</a> | <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/maven-fair">tumblr</a> | <a href="https://curiouscat.me/Maven_Fair">curiouscat</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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